


Wretched, Joyful

by dietplainlite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ben Solo Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, No Pregnancy, Wound Tending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: Rey takes a near death Ben Solo to a safe place on Coruscant. They begin stitching each other back together.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 178
Kudos: 576





	Wretched, Joyful

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Desdichado, feliz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462892) by [purple_muse_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_muse_queen/pseuds/purple_muse_queen)



His hair is filthy. They are both filthy, more than Rey can remember being in a long time, and possibly more than Ben has been in his entire life, sweaty and streaked with dirt, a fine layer of dust making his hair appear more grey than black. They had taken the TIE when they left Exegol, because it has two seats and the idea of being apart was so unfathomable that she had almost laughed at the thought, and because Ben was in no shape to pilot either craft even if they’d wanted to take both. 

She can’t bring him back to the Resistance yet. That is a situation that requires finesse as well as a fair amount of negotiation, which neither of them are up to at the moment, and Poe is certainly not in the mood for. Ben told her about an apartment his mother kept on Coruscant, and she set the course. He is now collapsed on the sofa of the tiny apartment, too exhausted to move. She is honestly afraid he may not have enough energy left to sustain his life, but when she offers to transfer some life force back to him, he refuses, telling her he only needs to rest. 

“At least get out of those clothes,” she says, and immediately blushes. 

Ben opens one eye. “And into what?”

“You said she kept it as a safe house so there must be something here, right?”

“Maybe. I’ve never been to this one.”

The bedroom closet is empty but there are some plain black shirts and trousers in the dresser drawers. They’re all one size, a rather large size, as though this had been set up for one particular person.

“I found some clothes,” she calls out. He doesn’t answer so she rushes back to the living room. “Ben? I know you won’t let me heal you but I at least need to clean and dress your wounds.”

“There’s no point if you’re still dirty,” he says. “Who knows what will happen if you get bits of pureed Palpatine in my wounds. Go take a shower. I’ll be fine.” 

She’s not sure he’ll be fine but he’s very stubborn and she hasn’t figured out that thing he can do where he knocks people out with the Force so she relents, telling him to call out if he needs her. 

The shower is a good idea, she admits grudgingly as she steps in and watches the dirty water pour off of her and slide down the drain. She spends a long time breathing in the pine needle scent of the shampoo and trying not to relive the events of the last day as she lets the water pound the physical pain from her muscles and wounds. She knows she should cry but she can’t let herself do it yet. She distracts herself by staying attuned to Ben’s presence, a dim but steady pulse that grows incrementally stronger every minute. 

The room is foggy when she steps out, her body a flesh colored blob in the mirror as she dries herself and puts on the clean clothes. They’re large on her, but not to the point of ridiculousness, and she wouldn’t care anyway, being clean feels so good. She goes back to the living room and kneels beside him.

“Ben?” she whispers. “Do you think you can stand in the shower?”

He shakes his head. 

“Can you get in the bathtub?”

“Probably couldn’t get back out.”

“We need to at least clean up your wounds, and I can wash your hair.”

He nods his head and she helps him up. His ankle is in bad shape but not broken. If she has to wait until he’s asleep she  _ will _ heal it, no matter his protests. He sits on the bed while she retrieves the first aid kit and a bowl of hot water from the kitchenette. She tries to maintain a professional distance as she helps him take off his shirt, pretending she’s a medic, but her pulse still quickens at the sight of him. His scars disappeared when she saved him on Kef Bir, and his skin is perfect other than the new cuts on his arm and the scrapes on his ribs and back. He winces as she inspects them. 

She starts with the largest cut, on his right shoulder, cleaning it carefully and picking tiny bits of gravel from it. She leans over him, her breath in his ear as she works, his other hand holding on to her hip, squeezing lightly whenever the pain flares. She applies a large bacta patch and kneels to deal with a large abrasion on the left side of his abdomen. His muscles contract as she presses the wet cloth to his skin, and he jumps when she blows on the wound after she applies alcohol. Another bacta patch--she spends a bit too long smoothing the edges of that one--and she moves on to the other smaller knicks, cuts and scrapes then cleans his skin. She has to change out the hot water three times. 

As she’s working on the cut on his cheek she catches his eye. He looks at her like he can’t believe she’s here, like he can’t believe he’s here. 

“I need to take care of your ankle, and any other wounds on your legs.”

“You’re going to have to cut my pants off,” he says. 

“What?”

“My ankle is too swollen to get them off without hurting it more.”

She takes a deep breath. This is fine. There was never a way to get out of this situation without seeing him mostly or all nude. There’s a pair of blunted scissors in the kit designed for cutting off clothing without cutting the person. Starting at the hem, she makes the first cut and he winces. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, but it’s inevitable.”

She keeps going, holding her breath until she’s well above his ankle, taking great care not to cut his underwear as well. She is definitely thankful he’s wearing underwear, which is not a feeling she thought she would be having the first time she took his pants off. But none of this day is going the way she thought their first night alone together would go. Fortunately, his ankle is the only major wound on his legs, and she gets it cleaned and wrapped with minimal fuss, though his face goes deathly pale as they’re getting him dressed and he has to lie down. 

The kitchen cupboards are bare other than some shelf stable nutrient drinks. She takes one of each flavor for him and a blue tea flavored one for herself. 

“Hey,” she says as she comes back into the bedroom. “Do you want blue tea, berry beauty, or honey?” 

“Honey,” he says. He sits up, leaning against the headboard. His hands are shaking so badly she has to put the straw into the pouch for him. She adjusts the pillow under his ankle and sits at the other end of the bed. He slips very slowly but she swears she sees the color returning to his face. 

“Do you want another one?” she asks when he finishes. He shakes his head, and Rey is reminded again how dirty his hair is, and how much better she felt after washing hers. “Let’s get your hair washed. I need to check for head wounds anyway.”

They hobble into the bathroom and he sits in front of the tub, a pillow under him and one behind his back. She drapes a folded towel over the edge of the tub and has him lean back, then elevates his foot on a stack of two pillows. Rey sits on the edge of the tub. 

“Tell me if anything hurts,” she says as she begins gently running her fingers through his hair and along his scalp. There are no cuts and only a few minor bumps. He was so lucky. She can’t think of what could have happened when he was thrown down that pit. 

“I’m alright,” he whispers, eyes closed. “I’ll be alright.”

She nods even though he can’t see her and blinks away the tears. He’s here. She’s here. They’re safe. 

She turns on the water and switches to the sprayer when the temperature is right. “Let me know if it’s too hot or cold.”

It’s apparently just right, because he sighs when she begins wetting his hair and running her hands through it again. She asks if it’s okay, anyway. He nods. 

She uncaps the shampoo and he squeezes his eyes tighter when he smells it. Rey is hit with a memory--his memory--of walking through a large, sunny apartment, his hair still wet from his bath, a nanny droid chasing after him. When she looks back down at him, tears have leaked from the corners of his eyes. She gently swipes them away with her thumb and kisses him on the bridge of his nose. 

“We’re alright,” she whispers. 

He relaxes again as she lathers his hair, though he’s holding onto her pant leg, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and finger. She hums as she scrubs his scalp, a lullaby she used to hear a Rodian scavenger sing to her children. 

“I haven’t heard that in years,” he says. 

“You know it?” She turns on the sprayer again and starts rinsing. 

“It was one of the songs on a disc my mother played every night, lullabies from thirty different cultures.”

They’re both quiet at the mention of Leia, and he grips her pant leg tight in his fist. She kisses his forehead and he squeezes her calf. 

“Should I use the conditioner?” she asks. 

“It’ll be easier to comb if you do.”

She begins working the rich cream into his hair and as she does, it hits her that while she’s never been taken care of, her life has also deprived her of the simple joy of taking care of someone else. She doesn’t understand why they’re connected the way they are and had been separated for so long, when they could have been such a help and comfort to each other. Her hands are covered in conditioner so she can’t wipe her tears away before they fall onto his face. He opens his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, and tries to sit up. 

Rey shakes her head and gently pushes him back down. “I’m okay. I was...overwhelmed at how unfair it all is.”

“That we only found each other now?”

She doesn’t know if he read her mind or just knows her that well. In a way it’s all the same. She nods. 

“We found each other, though. I’m only sorry I wasted a whole year after we did find each other.”

“It wouldn’t have worked then, not in the long run,” she starts finger combing his hair, the tangles sliding out easily. He begins to shiver so she drapes a towel over him and makes the water warmer as she rinses. 

“I don’t think I can stand back up yet,” he says when she’s finished, so she turns up the heat and carefully straddles his thighs so she can dry his hair. His hands rest on her thighs and she’s acutely aware of the contact. His palms are warm and heavy. She should be too tired to think about such things like how nice his hands would feel elsewhere on her body, and he’s so exhausted that she feels guilty for thinking about it. She blushes and he looks up at her, then moves his hands to her waist. 

“Ben,” she says, dropping the towel. His hair is damp and sticking up everywhere, a large hunk of it falling in his right eye. She moves it out of the way and follows through to caress his ear. “Can I kiss you again?” His eyes widen and he nods. 

It’s much like before, at least at first, their mouths pressed together, slightly open, his arms tight around her, but something shifts and he puts his hand on her neck, cupping her face, and she opens her mouth to his coaxing tongue. Tentatively, she pulls back and sucks on his bottom lip, testing its plumpness with her teeth. This sets off something in him and he pulls her closer, both hands on her neck and face, and she runs her own hands down his chest as he kisses her deeply. When he pulls away he’s pale again and breathing hard, but the look in his eyes says if he died right then, it would be worth it. 

“I’ll help you up,” she whispers. She has to use the Force to help but they manage, and she guides him back to the bed. When she turns to go sleep on the sofa, he takes her hand. 

“Stay.”

She starts to tell him it’s a bad idea but is it, really? What’s stopping them now from just being with each other, in whatever way they want, however they can?

So she allows herself to crawl into the bed beside him, careful of his elevated foot, resting her head in the crook of his arm and draping her arm across his waist, settling into the sensation of lying next to someone like this, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, the solid weight of him, the way he smells, a mixture of sweat and bacta and blood and pine. The very existence of him. The way it’s like finally slipping into a place where she fits. 

It’s the first time in her life she’s felt truly safe. 

He is tense at first, too. He can’t have experienced this before either, or at least not for a very long time, or with anyone other than his parents. Gradually his breathing steadies and his heart rate slows as his muscles begin to relax. She melts into it. 

“I want to sleep for ten years,” she says. “But when I close my eyes all I see is him, what I did to him. I think I did exactly what he wanted me to do.”

“He wanted you to fall to the dark side and you didn’t.”

“I could have.”

“Anyone could.”

“Do you believe that?” She holds her breath waiting for him to answer.

“I used to think it was inevitable for some and impossible for others but I don’t anymore.”

She buries her face in his side for a moment before lifting her head to look at him. “If you had died back there, I would have turned away from the light forever.”

He has been stroking her hair this whole time and he stops. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. 

“It’s true. When you passed out, when I thought you had died, the only thing I could see stretching out in front of me was a black hole of darkness and anger. I could feel it waiting for me and all I had to do was reach out my hand. And I would have taken it if it meant not having to feel.”

“It didn’t happen like that, though,” he smiles. 

“I don’t think I can ever forget that it could have.”

“I suppose that means I just have to live forever.”

“If you even think of dying before you’re eighty I’m going to go wherever you are and drag you back.”

“Is that a promise?”

Rey closes her eyes and instead of her past she sees the future. The immediate future is fuzzy but the road stretches out ahead long and bright like a swath of milky stars in a summer sky. Most importantly, she is not alone. 

“Yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for hurt/comfort so if you are too I hope you enjoyed this. Please let me know!


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